


Afternoon Nap

by unrivaled_tapestry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crimson Flower Route, Demisexuality, Disordered Eating, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Light Dissociation During Sex, M/M, Natural Setting, Neurodivergent Linhardt von Hresvelg, Post-Canon, Sex Headaches, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24383035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrivaled_tapestry/pseuds/unrivaled_tapestry
Summary: Linhardt can't say for sure whether he loves Caspar or not, but he knows he wants Caspar with him when he wakes up from his nap under the shade of an old oak tree.Or, Linhardt and Caspar enjoy a lazy summer day on their travels.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	Afternoon Nap

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Here is my first attempt at Lincas, dreamed up as I was drifting off for a nap myself.
> 
> Major thanks to [Nuanta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuanta/) and [GoldenThreads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenThreads/) for absolutely fantastic content and line edits.
> 
> Please mind the tags and I hope you enjoy!

Linhardt loved the moment after waking, when he became aware of the slowness of his breath and the quietness of his heart. He embraced the moment of confusion that came with staring up at the bright green canopy of a tree, with the harsh cry of a woodpecker still echoing in his ears as a cool breeze swept in off of the lake to his right. Yawning, he turned his head the fraction of an inch it took to check the slack line of his fishing pole. Seeing that there was no excitement, he rolled his neck back into the crook of roots he was nested in under the gnarled oak. His removed jacket supported his head, and he wondered if he would find spider bites later.

He felt the footsteps before he heard them, and Caspar plopped down on their picnic blanket with the solid thunk of muscle on earth. Caspar was careful not to bump Linhardt when he did, even as Linhardt slowly opened his eyes and saw Caspar nearly sitting on his hands. “Guess what I found?”

Linhard stifled another yawn. “Hm?”

Caspar placed a brown paper bag next to Linhardt’s lax hand. He made quick work of the little strip of twine holding it in place, and Linhardt poured his fingers into the opening. He pulled out an orb of wheat dusted with sugar, and took a small bite, smiling at the sour taste under the powder. Sourdough donut rounds.

“Ah, I see the little stand on the main street made more.” They had been out yesterday and the day before.

Caspar nodded. “Yeah! I was able to get some while they were still fresh. Are they as good as they were last time?”

“Any letters in the box?”

Caspar motioned to his satchel. “We got one from Petra. It has the Brigid royal seal on it and everything! The guy at the post office looked like he was gonna faint.”

Linhardt nodded and took another bite of the pastry held gingerly in his hands. The sourdough base and the grease countered the sugar well, and they instantly warmed his stomach. He was no great lover of sweets, but Caspar had been so excited to find a treat that could make him smile, that left tracks of powdered sugar on Linhardt’s nose for Caspar to brush off with his thumb or kiss off with his soft, dry lips.

He ate one for every two that Caspar gobbled, and although he nearly suggested saving some for later, he found himself unable to resist the look on Caspar’s face as he reached for another; he was excited after his jaunt, eating something delicious and proud that he’d been able to bring something back for his picky boyfriend. There was no rush—no hastily scarfed down rations, no late nights in the healer’s tent or the research lab. They would need to make lunch when they got back to the cabin anyway.

Caspar absolutely glowed. Peace and travel suited him as well as a jog in heady, late summer air. The last time Linhardt had needed to lay his hands over a leaking wound was a distant memory; something he knew happened, but was far enough in the past that Linhardt could pretend it was some bold story Caspar told strangers in a bar. Now his scars were healed, and Linhardt was the only one who left marks on him, in the form of bruises sucked at just the tip of his collar to show he shared his life with someone else. Linhardt wasn’t possessive, per se, but— 

“Hey,” Linhardt said.

“Is something wrong?” Caspar asked, leaning closer.

Linhardt pulled on the collar of Caspar’s simple black vest and drew him down for a kiss. He didn’t mind sugar on Caspar’s lips either, or the way it gave way to the salt on his upper lip from the walk to and from town, a gentle slope that often left Linhardt beading sweat even as Caspar merely gained a healthy shine from his sprint. He tasted faint copper, and remembered the blood under Caspar’s skin. He let the sweetness, the warmth, and the slickness wash over him as Caspar’s face went bright red. When Linhardt released him, Caspar pulled away and propped his arms on his knees.

“You’re in that kind of mood!” Caspar waggled his eyebrows. “Do you want me to, ah…?”

He trailed off. That was the thing about the library at Garreg Mach controlling materials on sexual education—Linhardt could count on one hand the number of classmates he’d had that were comfortable with the terminology of bodies and their meeting. Linhardt gathers that that’s what Caspar’s referring to, because if he wanted lunch or to go and get his own fishing pole he’d say so. The pause before the question could have meant Caspar fucking Linhardt or vice versa, but Linhardt had left their oil back at the cabin that morning. It could have meant a handjob, but Linhardt grew tired too quickly and he often found Caspar overenthusiastic.

Therefore it meant his mouth on Linhardt’s cock, to which Linhardt nodded his assent.

Caspar excitedly went for Linhardt’s belt and the buttons of his pants, tilting forward on crossed heels like he was unwrapping a present. Linhardt already felt himself growing hard as Caspar unfolded his linen underthings and exposed his cock to the breeze.

No one pressed him about it, because again he hardly knew anyone truly comfortable with the discussion of anatomy, but Linhardt wasn’t crazy about his cock. It served its function, but it had a kind of pale, liver-like coloration that he wasn’t fond of.

That didn’t stop Caspar from taking it into his mouth, smiling around Linhardt as he started sucking and Linhardt’s mind went blissfully blank. He sighed as he weakly thrust into the heat of Caspar’s mouth, shuddered at the spit cooling on his skin whenever Caspar took a break or pulled his mouth off so he could run his tongue up to the tip.

Linhardt’s cheeks flushed, and his hips rolled to life as his hands went instinctively to Caspar’s close-cropped, sky-blue hair. He could tell that Caspar had gotten it trimmed and greatly enjoyed the prickle of newly cut hair at the tips of his fingers. Recently, Caspar suggested he might grow his hair out, and of course Linhardt approved, but he would miss the bristles of a fresh haircut.

They should probably have been more careful being together out in the open like they were, and so close to the Faerghan border, but the cabin they rented was secluded enough to give them their privacy. Someone stumbling across them would have to be both trespassing and unlucky.

Linhardt gasped, his hips arching into Caspar’s mouth as lumpy bark dug into his shoulder blades. Hardly the most comfortable setting, but he didn’t feel like moving.

A little cry creaked out of him as Caspar moaned, and the vibration traveled around Linhardt’s pelvis, down his thighs as he thrust up. He hummed in response, arching his spine so Caspar could place his hands under his back for a better angle.

It was hard for Linhardt to get a good look—the image of Caspar bobbing over him always created a rift in his mind, between the pleasure swelling through his body and the intimate horror of letting his cock in between someone’s teeth, the trust that came with that.

Some would say that it had taken three months of war-born affection for them to reach that point—Linhardt would disagree, and say instead it had taken twenty years of knowing. No one had ever cared enough about the specifics to make that statement, though Linhardt was ready to summon that lazy retort should the day ever come.

Still Caspar doted on Linhardt’s member the same way he doted on Linhardt, like he wanted nothing more than for it to be so happy it spilled into him. From Linhardt’s position propped up against the tree, he watched through half-lidded eyes as Caspar blew, his cheeks going wide, then sucked, running his mouth up Linhardt’s length and letting it pop free. He took in a gulp of air as if emerging from a long dive. When he did, the cool breeze made Linhardt hiss, and he trembled as Caspar’s tongue worked its way back down.

Linhart melted into the crook in his tree as Caspar planted a soft kiss to the side of his shaft, grin growing so wide it showed off the enamel of teeth that Linhardt nearly had to force him to maintain regularly. Caspar’s head dropped back to Linhardt’s cock, smoothly taking him to the hilt in a motion that pulled at the corners of Linhardt’s mouth.

He scanned the canopy again, the greens seeming greener and the lights shining through brighter, each one blending into the other as the pressure built behind his eyes. He swallowed, and as Caspar worked his cock, Linhardt felt parts of himself slipping uncomfortably away from his own body, even as he slipped his other hand back to Caspar, back to that clean haircut and the fragrant remains of the soap the barber had used.

A series of minor discomforts came in waves with his pleasure. His previously easy temperature had turned nearly sickeningly warm, the cool breeze only glancing off of his sweating skin. He could have taken off his jacket, but if he made the effort, it could push the nascent feeling of unease building in his stomach into full nausea. The coarse hair under his fingertips helped pull him back to the hands under his ass, but he knew the feeling of his filters falling, his mind slipping away from this moment he wanted to share and instead focusing on every discomfort to the drum of his pulse.

Best to focus on coming, then, if he didn’t want a headache for the rest of the day. It was worth it, probably, for how much Caspar loved this, for the knowledge of care, and for the relaxation that came afterwards. He’d learned that Caspar’s love was as overwhelming as a crowded room, even if it was nicer.

He thought of the feeling of Caspar on him, of the heat building under his belt. Looking to end it quickly, he started thrusting, started thinking back to their first time together. It had been in Linhardt’s tent, in the early morning after a long shift with the other healers. The ragged edges in his mind stayed even after he washed the blood off, and sleep evaded him with thoughts of plasma and pathogens. They’d talked about it, before, but Linhardt brought it up as something that could help him with his insomnia. Or maybe Caspar suggested it? He couldn’t remember.

Caspar doubled down, sucking as Linhardt moved his hips, giving just the slightest scrape of his teeth as Linhart petted the back of his head.

Linhardt didn’t know what drove him over the edge. He could never quite pinpoint it. It could have been a moment of being in the air, metaphorically speaking, the thought that it was Caspar with him, or just forcing his body into the hot, numb ache.

Caspar sucked again, one last time, and Linhardt spilled into his mouth. He gave a few more languid thrusts with relief as his climax quivered through every spasming muscle.

Linhardt collapsed back into the roots of his tree, riding out the last of his orgasm with a raspy cry. The hand that had been on Caspar’s head fell onto Linhardt’s stomach as Caspar went to free his mouth from Linhardt’s come. He couldn’t swallow, and he knew Linhardt didn’t like to be kissed on the mouth afterwards, so he always tried to dispense of it as quickly as possible.

Linhardt was distantly aware of Caspar disappearing behind the tree for a second before reappearing. All he knew was that the sun shining through the tree was suddenly too much for his eyes. He coughed lightly, and the pressure behind his brow spiked again. He opted to keep his eyes closed.

A dry hand pressed to Linhardt’s forehead. “You all right?”

Linhardt assessed. He’d pushed it a little hard, let it go on a little long. He’d have it for the rest of the day, most likely, until the next time he laid down to sleep. “Headache. It’s not too bad, though.”

Worth it. A little annoying. He knew it worried Caspar. At his insistence, Linhardt had raised the issue with Manuela, who waved circles of light over his head and told him he had nothing to worry about. She sensed no bleeding, no loose arteries. Just the result, she said, of the same tension that laid him on the floor of his room after long meetings with lots of yelling. Not that that kept Caspar from asking her three more times if she was, _like, really really sure it was okay_.

With a frown, Caspar took a sip from his canteen. Little rivulets poured out from the side of his mouth. He messily ran the back of his arm across his face. “Did you remember to drink water while you’ve been out here?”

“Hm?” Linhardt asked, sighing heavily. “I have my canteen.”

Caspar picked up the canteen sitting alongside the fishing pole, and he shook it to demonstrate the negative space inside.

“I maybe forgot to refill it this morning.”

A second, cooler, fuller canteen was already in Linhardt’s hand, and Caspar helped him take a couple long sips. The water was cool enough to threaten his sensitive stomach, but shortly settled in. He had to admit that he felt better.

As he weakly attempted to screw the lid back on, Caspar took it from his hands. Linhardt smiled as Caspar wrapped his arms around Linhardt’s torso.

“Hey, Lin?”

“What is it?”

“I love you.” Caspar buried his face in Linhardt’s temple.

He smiled at the sensation of Caspar’s nose poking him. It was nice, partly because the added sensation chased away the headache for a second, even if it came rolling back in waves seconds later.

Linhardt turned his head and positioned himself so Caspar could present his forehead for kissing. Afterwards, Linhardt licked stale salt off his own lips.

He couldn’t say he loved Caspar, because he couldn’t say for sure what love was. He knew he wanted Caspar at his side until they were both old, should that day come to pass. He knew he wanted to weep when Caspar did. He knew he had healed Caspar as blood washed out of his armor in the rain, and that he’d waited until afterwards to throw up. He had left his theories on crest experimentation theoretical, in part because he knew Caspar would be sad should anything happen to him. They travelled the continent together, though if either one of them ever asked to settle down, the other would casually lay down their adventuring satchel.

Instead of saying all that, Linhardt kissed him, and let all of those things just be true instead.

Soon the sun would set and the birds would sleep. The insects that flourished in the late summer heat always drew fluttering bats at nautical twilight, and their dark bodies swooped at mosquitos. Occasionally, they thumped into Linhardt’s last cast of the day like a clumsy finger on a loose cello string. Linhardt and Caspar always took their dinner after that, sometimes needing to light the lantern on their way back as the days grew slowly shorter. They had until fall to decide whether they wanted to spend the winter there or move on.


End file.
